


Jim's John

by Laurasauras



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Getting Together, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV John Watson, Power Play, Pre-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-07 03:48:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12225141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurasauras/pseuds/Laurasauras
Summary: Jim Moriarty was astonished to find even one other person like him in the world when he learned of Sherlock Holmes. And Sherlock was so much more like him than he had ever dared hope. But Sherlock has a John, and Jim has never felt the need to keep anyone around. There has to be something more to John Watson than what he's seen so far, but he can't figure it out. He needs to get closer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is before the Reichenbach Falls, but Jim has been playing with Sherlock, testing his limits, revealing bits of himself. Sherlock and John don't have a romantic relationship at the beginning, but if pushed, Sherlock would probably describe them as platonic soul mates. If pushed, John would probably tell you it's none of your business.

Sherlock never waited for John before leaping up the steps into their flat. John was left to pay the taxi  _ again _ and greet Mrs Hudson wearily. They’d been on the case for over 24 hours and they’d been both shot at multiple times, which in Sherlock’s opinion made it a  _ good _ case. It just wasn’t as fun when they weren’t in danger. Upstairs, John could hear Sherlock playing his violin, which was slightly unusual after a case, but it had been a  _ good _ case, so maybe he was showing off a bit more. John didn’t know the actual names of any of Sherlock’s songs, but this one was called  _ My Bow’s Bigger Than Yours _ , his good show off song. It was slow at times, long and beautiful strokes, but it also had these tricky quick changes, very sprightly and high energy. Sherlock pretended to hate that John nicknamed all his songs, but he never told him the real version, and he always turned away as John started talking about it, which meant John would never know if he was smiling, which meant he absolutely was smiling. 

 

John shook Mrs Hudson off fairly easily, because he looked tired and she wasn’t a monster, and then he managed to drag himself up the stairs which had magically extended so that there were now hundreds of steps, but he managed to get to the top, ready to collapse in his chair. But someone was in his chair. Now the showing off made sense. 

‘I made you tea,’ said Moriarty, in that horrible sing-song way of his. John didn’t take his eyes off Sherlock’s back. Sherlock continued to play his song, incredibly skillfully despite his lack of sleep. Then again, Sherlock liked to show off for Moriarty.

‘Take some tea, John,’ Sherlock said casually, his melody never breaking. John took the tea from Moriarty’s hand and was grateful the spoon didn’t shake any more against the saucer in John’s hand than it had in Moriarty’s. Moriarty smiled in a way that he might think was angelic. Was it his eyebrows that made him so … creepy?

 

John sipped his tea and it was exactly as he liked it, quite strong, no sugar. 

‘Not having tea, Sherlock?’ John asked. Sherlock finished with a showy flourish and sat in his chair. He took the proffered cup but didn’t sip. John hoped he wasn’t reading too much into that, seeing as he’d already drunk some. 

‘We’ve just come off a case, we don’t need you right now,’ Sherlock said. John gave him a look. He was standing just behind Sherlock’s chair, and under the guise of putting a steadying hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, had unclipped the secret compartment that held one of Sherlock’s knives. Moriarty was staring at John directly, which was slightly off-putting. 

‘Can I have your John?’ John’s name was dragged out into two syllables. Sherlock looked up at John, his face contemplative.

‘No, I need him.’

‘But you get him aaaaall the tiiiiime and I only want him for a little bit.’

‘He’s mine, not yours.’

‘Can we do a swap?’

‘You don’t have anything I want.’

‘Don’t you want to hear?’

 

Sherlock was silent for so long that John had time to finish his tea. 

‘I can’t  _ give you _ John. He’s a person.’

‘Yes. Is that really your objection? People aren’t more valuable than other things.’

‘John is.’

‘That’s why I  _ want _ him.’

‘What will you give me?’

‘Sherlock.’ John felt that he needed to remind them both that he was in the room.

‘John.’ Sherlock countered. ‘What will you give me?’

‘A holiday.’

‘I don’t need a holiday.’

‘No-oh.’ Moriarty was grinning. ‘ _ I’ll _ be taking a holiday.’

‘Sherlock.’ John was starting to worry.

‘No consulting while you have John?’ Moriarty nodded his agreement. ‘Not good enough.’

‘And anyone who tries to hire me goes to you. You get them for conspiracy, their victims live.’

 

John groaned. Of course Sherlock would take that deal. Sherlock shifted in his chair.

‘Not good enough,’ he repeated.

‘I just want to  _ see _ ! I’ll take him anyway, I’m just being  _ nice _ .’ Sherlock just stared at him. ‘Well you do the terms, then.’ Moriarty slouched petulantly. 

‘Can I speak with John privately?’ Sherlock asked.

Moriarty slunk downstairs, stomping loudly on the steps as if to reassure them he wasn’t sticking around to eavesdrop.

 

‘What does he mean, can he have me?’

‘He’s always been fascinated by you.’

‘He’s always been fascinated by  _ you _ . I just get a bit of the splash over,’ John corrected.

‘No, he thinks we’re the same, but he’s never wanted a friend. It … puzzles him that I would.’ Sherlock was holding his fingers to his lips, his classic thinking pose. ‘Don’t bother with the knife, he’d see it coming a mile away.’

‘What do we do?’ John asked, closing the compartment and moving to crouch in front of Sherlock’s chair. 

‘Like he says, if we don’t make a deal, he’ll just take you. We need to have as much control as possible.’ Sherlock paused, thinking. John just looked at him. ‘We set up a code. You text me at prearranged times, at least, hopefully more frequently. We make a code for that too. Have you written a blog for that case last month, with the Americans?’ John shook his head. ‘Good, use the code from that, can you remember?’ John nodded, smiling weakly. A very romantic code, but if they used one older, John wouldn’t remember it, if they used one he’d published, Moriarty wouldn’t even have to work to crack it. ‘Right, and text me as much as possible, with other things, so he doesn’t crack it. And we’ll insist on a heart rate monitor for you so that I can make sure you’re safe. And that thing about his customers getting done on conspiracy, that’s good. He’ll have to make sure they explicitly ask him for his services.’

‘What’s he going to do with me?’ John asked.

Sherlock looked unsure for the first time.

‘I think he just wants to know what it’s like, to have you as a friend. I know he’s not me, but I think if you pretend he is, it’ll go easier. He’ll get what he wants and then give you back to me.’

‘Sherlock …’  _ Don’t let him take me _ , John thought. Instead, he said, ‘I love you.’ Sherlock smiled. John hadn’t told anyone that in years, not even his sister, and now he was saying it to his best friend because presumably Moriarty was listening in and their code relied on soppy messages. 

‘If he tries anything … funny …’  Sherlock seemed to be considering what he could offer.

‘I can handle myself,’ John said.

‘I know you can, but maybe avoid making him cross, if you can.’

John closed his eyes and felt like he might have fallen asleep in spite of his tension, in spite of crouching on his ankles. 

‘Nothing he can do will stop you from being mine,’ Sherlock said softly. John opened his eyes with effort and stood back up. Sherlock grabbed his hand and put it back on his shoulder. ‘I love you too,’ he said, and John had to wonder if Sherlock thought there were microphones in the room, because there was no way Moriarty could hear that from the hallway.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Although he didn’t imagine he would have been able to sleep, John was still slightly grumpy when Moriarty didn’t let him have one more night at home before stealing him away. They’d arranged the heart rate monitor and Moriarty didn’t seem bothered by the thought that John would seemingly be spending much of his time texting Sherlock. He seemed very amused by Sherlock giving John a goodbye hug. It was awkward and forced, but then, they weren’t exactly at ease. When Sherlock let go of John, he somehow managed to grab his hand, which he pressed a firm kiss to. John smiled sadly at Sherlock’s ridiculous notion of what romance looked like, but didn’t fancy trying to correct it with their audience. When Sherlock released John’s hand, he spun away to the window, picking up his violin on the way and immediately began playing. It was his Sulky Violin song, which John took to mean that he wasn’t especially happy about the situation, no matter how calm he was acting. Sulky Violin often ended with grating off-key notes and then plates being thrown, though it sounded quite nice at first. 

Although Moriarty was on his own, John imagined he could feel eyes watching him when they exited 221B. He could see one woman attempting to blend in near a newspaper stand, and wondered if he would have noticed her before Sherlock had taught him how to look properly. He got into the waiting taxi and slid to the far side automatically, as if Sherlock was coming with him. Moriarty took the seat with a creepy smile.   
‘So, is now the part when you two would make out on the way to a crime scene?’ he asked, leaning forward conspiratorially.   
‘We’re a bit more private than you seem to think,’ John said tersely.   
‘Hardly. You’re famous.’  
‘What do you want from me?’ John asked, unable to think of a reply to that.   
‘I’ve always admired your straight-forward nature, Dr Watson,’ Moriarty said. He leant back in his chair and transformed his face from killer to businessman. It had to be something about that smile that made him creepy, maybe he showed too many teeth. ‘I have many associates, as Sherlock Holmes had many associates. Then you show up, and not only does he have you, but suddenly he counts that police guy as his friend as well. And his landlady. It’s absurd, those people were in his life for years before you and he never looked at them twice unless they were doing something interesting, like giving him a case or asking him to keep a husband in jail. I never look at my associates twice. Maybe you’ll make me see something worth seeing.’  
‘Sherlock’s just …’ How could John explain to Moriarty that John was useless to him without betraying some trust from Sherlock? ‘Listen, Moriarty--’  
‘Call me Jim,’ Moriarty insisted.   
‘Right. Jim. The thing is, it wasn’t Sherlock that changed. Before I came along and treated Sherlock like a person, like a friend, instead of like a … freak …’ John tried not to follow that line of thought too far. ‘Before that, people didn’t realise you could treat Sherlock like a friend. So they changed, they allowed themselves to hear the full sentences when he spoke rather than just the bits that offended them, and they realised that he actually is brilliant, and it’s worth being called stupid every now and again to be around him.’  
Moriarty pondered this, tapping his forefingers on his chin. 

The taxi pulled up while Moriarty thought. John didn’t make a move to get out of the cab. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake.  
‘I need to think,’ Moriarty said, and he left without warning. John made to follow, but a burly man stepped in front of him.

‘Hi,’ said John.  
‘This way, Dr Watson.’ The man was wearing a sticker that said ‘Buddy’ on it.   
‘I prefer John. Buddy, I take it?’ The man nodded, his jaw stiff. John had thought that he was supposed to be getting friendly with the goons, but he decided to wait to push it after he’d had some sleep. Buddy lead John into a building and then indicated that he should go in a room. When John did, eyebrows raised at the silent treatment, he closed the door and locked it without a word. John sighed, and turned to examine his room. There was a steaming bag on a small desk that he opened warily, but it turned out just to be Chinese food from Golden Dragon, one of his and Sherlock’s regular take-aways. He left it to sweep through the room, not really sure what he was checking for. It was a pretty shitty sweep, to be honest, because he was starving and exhausted and he just wanted to eat. 

After eating several spoonfuls a bit too quickly to be polite (though he was alone, what did it matter?), he dug out his phone and messaged Sherlock.  
Still in London. He’s given me a room and food. Better than my old apartment.  
He give you any trouble? SH  
Perfect gentleman so far.  
I hate this. SH  
I know.  
Sherlock had replied immediately for each of the messages, which was impressive for a sulky Sherlock. John had finished his food and changed into some pyjamas that he found in the small chest of drawers before he replied again.  
I don’t know what to say. SH  
I’m not one for chatting under the best of circumstances. I’m going to go to sleep now.  
How very boring. You must tell me if he sleeps too. I bet he does 6 hours a night and everything. SH  
Are you asleep? SH  
Not yet.   
Right. Sweet dreams. SH  
They always are when you’re in them.  
That was close enough to the code. If he had known he was going to need to remember it word for word he might have tried Sherlock’s memory technique. Of course, he used his parents old house, not a palace. Baker Street changed too much for him to use it. There was another pause of a few minutes and John started to drift off despite the strange bed.   
That thought’s enough to make me consider sleeping. Text me when you wake up. SH  
John smiled. He had known Sherlock could impersonate a variety of different people to gain access to crime scenes and wakes and once a high security government building. It shouldn’t have surprised him that he could put on the good boyfriend hat as well. It wasn’t just the saying the right thing, though. It was saying it in an utterly Sherlock way.


	3. Chapter 3

John woke up naturally for the first time in a very long time. He’d slept for eight hours, the longest stretch of sleep he’d had since he had moved into Baker Street. He considered rolling over and trying to catch up on some more, seeing as he didn’t have a roommate shooting the walls or coming into talk to him as if he was already awake, but apparently his body was used to sleeping with Sherlock. John smiled at his own thoughts, thinking it was a pity he couldn’t have a genuine slip up like that when Moriarty was around.

_ I’m awake and also still alive. _

The reply was immediate. 

_ 8 hours. What an absolute waste. SH _

_ Go on then. How long did you sleep for? _

_ Three and a half hours. SH _

_ Liar. _

_ How could you possibly know? You’re not here. SH _

Oh, that was another code. John thought carefully. 

_ What would you do if I was? _

That wasn’t quite right. Sherlock must be so frustrated with him and he couldn’t even tell him off.

_ John, I am not sexting you the first night you spend away from me. I have standards. _

No signature. Was that a sign?

_ SH _

No, he was just caught off guard. That was new. John chuckled and got out of bed. He got dressed and the second he did up his last button, there was a knock at the door. John remembered he was locked in, so he just clasped his hands behind himself and waited for the door to open. It was Buddy again, but today his sticker read ‘Tommy’. John looked at Buddy/Tommy’s chest pointedly. 

‘Not worth arguing with Jim about my name,’ he said. 

‘So you just write down whatever he says and everyone goes along with it?’

‘Everyone does.’

‘Right.’

 

John followed Tommy out his door.

_ Oh, so if it’s not sexy you just won’t reply? SH _

_ It’s rude for me to text when I should be focussing on my job here.  _

_ So be rude. SH _

John slipped his phone back in his pocket and focussed on where he was going. Tommy was leading him downstairs and then out of the building and then into another. 

‘Doc-tor Wat-son!’ Tommy melted into the background. Now, that was service. ‘We have a big day planned, you and I!’

‘I will happily call you Jim if you call me John,’ John said. 

‘And everybody else?’

‘My name’s John.’

‘Well! John and Jim! Let’s go, shall we?’

And Moriarty grabbed John’s hand and dragged him back outside. They walked down the street, Moriarty holding John’s limp hand and then Moriarty held the door of a cafe open for him. John ducked into the cafe and took the seat Moriarty held for him. Sherlock had a habit of holding doors and pulling out seats for him as well, but it didn’t feel like this. When Sherlock did it, it felt like he was just doing it because he was polite, like there was some left over good-breeding he couldn’t get out. Moriarty made it feel possessive and intimate.

‘You been here before?’ John said, aiming for polite.

‘I  _ own _ this place,’ Moriarty said. 

John rolled his eyes.

‘What?’

‘You’re a bit of a tosser, aren’t you?’ John said, exasperated.

Moriarty glared at John over the table.

‘You’re the one that wanted to be friendly, and you’re actively trying to creep me out!’

Moriarty continued to glare at John. A waiter came and set plates of French toast in front of both of them and John assumed he wouldn’t be choosing what he was eating while he was with Moriarty. John held up a finger to excuse himself while he shot a quick text to Sherlock.

_ He eats too, very human. _

 

‘So what’s on for today?’ John tried again at conversation.

‘We’re going to work. I thought you could just follow me around and praise me, isn’t that what you do for him?’ Moriarty was sneering unpleasantly. John couldn’t remember him ever being sarcastic, but the way he spoke had the same intonation, as if the whole world was a cruel joke.

‘Close enough,’ John said cheerfully. ‘But aren’t you on holiday?’

‘Oh, sure, from my hobby. But I’m not from some fancy wealthy family like your boy.’ Moriarty seemed to relish in this by speaking when he wanted to speak, heedless of whether he had food in his mouth or not. ‘No. We’ll be spending today, and other days I suppose, at my university.’

‘Your university?’

‘Yup.’

John tried a few more times to engage Moriarty in talking, but he just stared at him as if it wasn’t worth the effort of answering. They finished their breakfasts and a cup of tea each before Moriarty stood up and left, not bothering to check that John was following.

 

Tommy guided John into the car when he made his own, slightly slower way out of the cafe. In the backseat, Moriarty ignored John in favour of talking on the phone, arguing with someone, telling them they needed to email him details or he wouldn’t go near something. John supposed that was part of his deal with Sherlock. He really hadn’t been sure if Moriarty was going to go through with it. 

_ Apparently I have to follow him around and praise him like a good John Watson. _

_ Anyone could do that. The praise isn’t why I keep you around. SH _

_ I don’t know that my medical expertise is going to be useful here. _

_ That isn’t why I keep you around either. SH _

_ For my tea making abilities? _

_ You know, I wanted to deny that, but I haven’t had a single cup since you left and I may die. SH _

_ You could always make one yourself. _

_ Do I take sugar? SH _

_ Yes. Two teaspoons. And milk as well. _

_ I probably knew that once. SH _

_ Tastes better when you make it. SH _

 

When they pulled up, Moriarty ended his call without warning and stepped out of the car. John joined him.

‘You’re a relatively intelligent man, John, so I suppose it has already occurred to you, but I’ll say it anyway. Don’t slander me in front of my students.’ Moriarty had been looking towards the buildings as he spoke, but when he finished he turned to meet John’s eyes with a look of calm danger on his face. John just nodded curtly. 


	4. Chapter 4

John wasn’t sure what he had expected when Moriarty told him he worked at a university, though he had gathered he was a professor when he mentioned ‘his students’. It was one thing to speculate and another to see the most dangerous man he had ever met greeting students as they walked into his classroom. He remembered himself in university, with that impossible feeling he never got back, that feeling of weightlessness, that feeling of immortality, like there was no danger in the world, or if there was, it certainly posed no threat to him. 

But these students … they were shaking hands with death, walking by death without looking twice. It made John feel incredibly tense. Moriarty gestured to a seat near his desk and John sat in it.  
‘Alright, settle down.’ Moriarty’s voice had lost that mocking quality, but this didn’t really make John feel better. ‘I have with me Dr John Watson, he’s here because he’s considering a career as a lecturer. Please don’t do anything to dissuade him! Now, I assume you all did your readings from last week.’

Moriarty mostly talked to the class, which wasn’t a huge one. Advanced maths, and too complicated for John to follow. John took a quick photo of a problem from Moriarty’s whiteboard and sent it to Sherlock.  
I’m totally lost. Was making me feel stupid part of the deal?  
Figures. And I’m rubbish at maths. SH  
Deleted it all?  
Snuck calculators in instead of learning it. Never broke the habit. SH  
I bloody love you.

John sent that last text without thinking about it. For quite a while, he had been saying things like ‘brilliant’ or ‘fantastic’, when he meant ‘I love you’. Not in an especially romantic way. Sherlock was his family, his best friend, his favourite person. Sometimes he said things that just reminded him forcefully why that was. But it was good for the impulse to come out now, when their texts were absolutely being monitored. Because he was supposed to love Sherlock now.   
Because I’m bad at maths? SH  
Just because you’re you.

Moriarty finished the class, competently answering every question put to him. As the students filed past, a few gave him curious looks, but most were too absorbed in each other or the class or lunch. Just an ordinary class, with ordinary students. Moriarty leaned against the desk facing John and looked at him.   
‘What did you think?’   
‘You’re rather brilliant, aren’t you?’ John said.  
‘Of course.’ His tone was nowhere near the same mocking one he knew, but it wasn’t the professional one he had adopted for his students.   
‘Maths first or … your hobby?’  
‘Maths. Child prodigy.’  
‘Right. You been teaching long?’  
‘It’s the only way they’ll let me do my research. I blew them all away when I was 17, solved this equation--but you wouldn’t know it.’  
‘Try me.’

And so Moriarty introduced John to himself as the rest of England saw him. John didn’t understand a word of the maths, but Moriarty ignored that and John was clever enough to make appropriate comments every so often. After half an hour, Tommy came in and brought them sandwiches and tea in takeaway cups.   
‘Thank you, Ronnie,’ Moriarty said mildly. John saw Ronnie take his sticker off as he walked out of the room.  
‘Why d’you do that?’ John asked.  
‘Do what?’  
‘Get his name wrong, however many times a day.’  
‘Classic domination strategy. Gotta keep the dogs in line.’ Moriarty cocked his head to one side.  
‘Did you never think that there might be a potential for a … me … in your ranks? Rather than just dogs?’  
‘See that’s the thing!’ Moriarty leaped off the desk and started pacing. ‘I just don’t get why Sherlock would keep someone around, encouraging other people to think he was just like them and letting you say whatever you like! It just doesn’t make sense!’  
‘Even Sherlock Holmes needs a sounding board sometimes. He says I work wonders for inspiring illumination.’ John attempted to suppress a smile at that, but it snuck out, so he scratched at his forehead awkwardly to at least mask it somewhat. ‘He used to use a skull. I suppose that’s what your guys are like. But it’s not as good as having someone, a clever someone-and look, I am clever-to listen and comment and see things.’  
Moriarty ate his sandwich rather aggressively and didn’t talk for the next half hour. Then the next class came and John sat back in his chair to watch.

The second class was much like the first. Moriarty was an engaging speaker and more than a couple of students were trying to catch him out in witty banter. One bloke repeatedly asked questions about maths that were probably brilliant, but he did so with the same intensity someone might ask a lover to bed. Moriarty noticed, because he noticed almost as well as Sherlock, but he didn’t care. Not that Sherlock would probably care either.  
Would you care if a young lad who was brilliant at maths kept hitting on you?  
I only have eyes for you, babe. SH  
Moriarty could probably have anyone in this class, if he wanted. Excluding me.  
He’s had students before, I read it on him. SH  
Do you know which way he swings?  
To the left, but that’s absurdly common. SH  
No, I meant whether he prefers men or women.  
What did you think I meant??  
He’s had both, flirts with both. Can’t tell if there’s a preference. SH

John pocketed his phone again. Sherlock hadn’t answered the other question, but he didn’t suppose that mattered. John hoped that Moriarty would finish whatever experiment this was quickly. He had been relieved when he graduated to not have to go to lectures anymore, and it was much worse when he didn’t understand the topic. Sherlock didn’t text him for the rest of the class, so John amused himself trying to make deductions. Recently, the assumptions he made had begun to line up more and more with the constant stream of information that Sherlock gave him. Sherlock narrated his deductions in part to teach John, but also likely so that John would praise him. The teaching had been rather new and completely one-sided (Sherlock dismissed the notion that John had anything to teach him with a wave of the hand and John hadn’t brought it up again), but John was pleased when he had gotten the hang of picking locks almost immediately.

When the class ended, John thought he could tell who Moriarty had slept with and wondered if he had the courage to bring it up. His deductions were not the lightning fast blurts of the Holmes brothers, but carefully considered. He took his time, because unlike Sherlock, he had worked rather hard to stop himself from judging people based on their appearance before all this started. 

The class ended and Moriarty left the room with his students, not waiting for John. John sighed at the familiar feeling of jogging after someone when he wasn’t certain he wanted to be following them in the first place.


	5. Chapter 5

That night, John and Moriarty had dinner in a restaurant that had been cleared of all patrons but the two of them, much like the cafe that morning. The restaurant was rather more impressive though, because John had been there before with Sherlock and Sherlock had flashed Mycroft’s government ID at the Maitre D to get them a table, a sure sign that they wouldn’t have been seated otherwise. Sherlock had been in a good mood that night, as he always was when he managed to charge things to Mycroft’s account. Sherlock didn’t drink often, but they had both gotten a bit tipsy that night on expensive champagne, and Sherlock had not only cleaned his plate at the restaurant, he had also stolen most of John’s kebab on the way home. 

 

‘I like it here,’ John told Moriarty when they were seated. 

‘I aim to please,’ Moriarty drawled. 

They talked a bit about the food options as they read the menus, and John was glad that he was to be allowed to choose his own food. Even though everything he’d eaten had been to his taste, he preferred to be treated like an adult. 

 

As they waited for their food, John told Moriarty the story of the last time he had visited the restaurant, including the case they’d solved that day. The case had been on John’s blog, so no doubt Moriarty already knew about it, but he was polite about it and made comments when appropriate. Their food arrived just as the conversation began to lull.

 

‘How am I doing so far?’ John asked.

'I’m afraid I still don’t get it,' Moriarty sighed. 'But then, maybe tomorrow will help. I thought we’d play Sherlock.'

'What do you mean?' John kept his voice and face studiously polite.

'I texted Sherlock and asked if we could do a case tomorrow. I’m fighting for the angels this time. Your Lestrade will handle us. I’ll be on my best behaviour.'

'Alright, let’s play Sherlock,' John said. 

'It won’t convince me to reform or anything,' Moriarty said. 'I’m just trying it out, you can’t  _ save _ me.'

'I wouldn’t dream of it,' John said honestly. 

 

They ate in silence for a while. Then, 'What do you see in Sherlock?' Moriarty asked. 

'What do you mean?' John asked carefully.

'I’m rather besotted too, but I wouldn’t peg us for having the same tastes. And you’re a steady guy, it’s a bit odd that you’d jump into such a serious relationship so quickly after meeting someone.'

'Well, we were just friends at first,' John said.

'Fine, tell me how it happened.’ Moriarty had his chin in his hands, elbows on the table, eager for the story. 

‘Well, we agreed to move in together after we’d met each other only once before that, and then he took me on a case and my leg didn’t hurt around him and then it became almost routine that I went along with him. I saved his life once or twice, he saved mine plenty of times and he became my mate, my best mate, really. He’s brilliant, and of course he knows that on some level, but it’s the kind of brilliance that people kind of hate for some reason, and I hated seeing people talking about him like he doesn’t have feelings just because he’s  _ clever _ , like the two are mutually exclusive or something.” John paused. All that had been true, but now he had to lie, and make it sound like truth to a man who knew when people lied to him. He closed his eyes to picture the scene he was about to describe properly. He had thought of what he would say all day, knowing that he would be expected to provide some kind of proof. It was embarrassingly easy to think of a story, because it was something he had thought about before, almost becoming a kind of fantasy, except that fantasy implied something a bit too heavy for what he meant. 

‘We had just finished a case. I was in that weird state of exhausted and full of adrenaline and he was buzzing, because that’s how we always are. So we stayed up and played Snap, because we  _ do not _ play Cluedo anymore. And he sees the cards faster but I move faster, so it’s actually a pretty even game, and it always ends up with us getting a bit too competitive, I swear he burst blood vessels in my hand once. But this time … Look the cases are always intense because lives are on the line, sometimes even our own, but this was a fun one, I don’t know, we just nailed it, and I had helped and he even acknowledged that and then he was concentrating so hard on the Snap that I realised that he was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen, not for the first time, but usually I got those revelations when he was in the middle of a case and his focus wasn’t on me, and I must have messed up the rhythm of the game or something because he looked at me and he knew. I mean of course he knew, he can’t help knowing every thought that goes through people’s brains and I thought I’d really messed up then because there isn’t much that could ruin our friendship, but I was pretty sure that was one thing that could, but he didn’t freak out, he just kissed me.’

 

John had spoken to his wine glass as he said that, but when Moriarty didn’t respond he forced himself to look at him. Moriarty was staring at him, not like he was trying to decide whether it was true or not, but with a look of obvious desire.

‘Snap is not something I had considered erotic until just this moment,’ Moriarty said. John’s phone buzzed in his pocket and John was grateful of the distraction.

_ Your heart rate is elevated. Everything OK? SH _

Or maybe not. That was rather embarrassing, actually.

_ Fine. Just telling Moriarty about how we got together, may have got a bit excited. _

_ How much detail did you go into to get your heart rate up? SH _

_ No, seriously John, your heart rate has been remarkably steady for someone in your circumstances up until now. SH _

‘Sorry about this,’ John said to Moriarty. ‘Apparently my heart rate went up, he needs me to just confirm everything is fine.’

Moriarty looked a bit amused, but not suspicious, which was a relief, seeing as an elevated heart rate was a sign of lying. 

_ I’m fine. That night with the Snap is just the kind of memory I can’t think about without reaction.  _

John hoped that would be enough for Sherlock to be able to tell a similar story if he needed to. 

_ It’s killing me to have to wait for a text to know if you’re OK. SH _

_ I know. I love you. _

When John looked up again Moriarty was still staring at him. He realised he had a bit of a soppy smile on, but that worked. He changed the smile from soppy to friendly and sipped his wine. 

 

‘Would he share you with me, I wonder,’ Moriarty said. 

‘No.’

Moriarty’s smile turned wolfish. 

‘I admit that I’ve been struggling to find why Sherlock likes you a lot more than why you would like Sherlock. Because you’re right, he is brilliant, it’s not hard to see the appeal. But you’re usually all … proper. It’s been a delight to peek behind the curtains a bit. And if that’s how you look when you’re  _ thinking _ about sex, I’d very much like to see you during.’

‘I don’t think that will be happening,’ John said. 

‘I’ll settle for getting you to make that face more often then.’

 

John fell silent and Moriarty didn’t try to engage him in further conversation. He just continued to stare at him until they finished their wine. When they were done, they were back in another of Moriarty’s black car. The prolonged silence made the atmosphere uncomfortably tense, but John was no longer able to break it. 

‘I wonder what it’s like when the two of you finish cases now. I imagine it’s almost become associated with sex.’ Moriarty’s voice was low and he continued to stare at John as he talked. ‘I bet you struggle so much to make that final journey from solving the case to getting in the cab. I bet once you’re in you just grab him and kiss him stupid. And then pretending to be normal again for the landlady when you’re dying to get him in bed.

‘Do you play games? Torment each other by dragging it out, making conversation, getting food, knowing that you can’t do anything until you’re back home? I bet that’s the kind of thing that drives Sherlock crazy. You’d do anything to drive him crazy the way he’s been driving you crazy, all that time showing off with his brilliance and his cheekbones. I bet you make him wish he’d fucked you the very day he met you.’

John’s phone buzzed then and Moriarty finally broke off his eye contact. ‘Go on then, tell Sherlock your heart’s reacting to Jim Moriarty talking dirty to you in the backseat of a car. Tell him you’re outside and the sex you’re about to have is thanks to me.’ Moriarty grinned evilly as the car pulled over. John looked out the window and realised that they were indeed at Baker Street. 

‘You’re free to go, John. But I might borrow you again sometime.’

 

John lurched out of the car, pulling out his phone to see that the message was indeed from Sherlock.

_ Heart rate. Can you stop talking about Snap if that’s what’s going on? You’re starting to make me worried. SH _

John ran up the stairs and opened the door. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room phone in hand, and met his gaze evenly. John watched as Sherlock looked him up and down, reading his last day on him. His gaze lingered on his face and John wondered what he was seeing. John realised how close this was to the scenario he had described, with Sherlock seeing John’s arousal and acting on it, so he decided to break the tension so that Moriarty’s prediction wouldn’t come true. He didn’t want his first kiss with Sherlock to be in reaction to Moriarty.

 

He cast his eyes around, looking for a distraction. While he had been gone, less than 24 hours, Sherlock had removed all furniture from their lounge room.

‘Oh for fucks sake,’ John said. ‘What have you done with all our stuff?’

Sherlock licked his lips nervously.

‘I, ah … thought it could be wired. I’m testing it, then I’ll put it all back.’

‘Oh. Well, good. So no wires in here then?’

‘No, we can talk freely. What did he do to make your heart …?’

‘How are you even reading my heart rate from here?’ John asked, looking around.

‘Oh, I …’ Sherlock lifted his top to reveal a monitor that closely resembled the one strapped to John’s chest. 

‘That doesn’t make sense,’ John said, staring at the device.

‘No, um …’ Sherlock moved closer to John. ‘So they’re paired. Basically, whatever your heart does, mine does too.’

John stared at Sherlock, waiting for him to make sense. ‘Best nights sleep I’ve had in years, by the way.’

‘Because my heart slowed your heart down?’ John asked.

‘Yes.’

‘You couldn’t just use a screen to tell you?’

‘Oh, I’m rubbish at that. I deleted most of my medical knowledge when you came along, no point having the same stuff in two brains. I know what feels high, but …’

‘God, I missed you,’ John said. 

Sherlock looked rather pleased to not be told off. John finally felt himself relax. ‘Right, well seeing as you’ve stolen my chair, I might go to my room,’ he said. 

Sherlock made a confused face, which John ignored, and then he took the stairs to his room. 

 

It was empty, because of course it was.

‘Sherlock!’ John shouted. 

‘Yes, John?’ he called back.

Sighing, John took the stairs back down. 

‘I don’t have any furniture.’

‘No. I wondered what you wanted to do in a room with no furniture.’

‘I don’t want to do anything in a room with no furniture, I want to be in a room with furniture,’ John said, barely managing to keep himself from shouting again. 

‘Ah,’ said Sherlock. ‘We don’t have any rooms like that at the moment.’

And John couldn’t do anything but laugh at that. Sherlock sat down on the floor and patted the floor next to him, so John sat too, which was so ridiculous that they both started laughing again. 


	6. Chapter 6

John and Sherlock lay on the floor talking for several hours before John brought up the  _ no furniture _ thing again.

'Sherlock, where are we going to sleep?' he said.

'Why do you insist on sleeping every night?' Sherlock said.

'I refuse to have this conversation again,' John said.

'I refuse to let you out of my sight,' Sherlock said.

John opened his eyes to look at Sherlock. His eyes were still closed. He looked quite relaxed.

'Come on, your bones have to hurt too,' John said, closing his eyes again.  

'What’s your solution?' Sherlock asked. He sounded genuinely curious.

'We find a hotel or something. You don’t have to sleep, they have couches in most hotel rooms. Hell, even carpet would be more comfortable than this.'

 

Sherlock jumped to his feet.

'Oh, are we going now?' John asked. 

'Yep.' Sherlock was brushing himself down. John rolled his eyes at himself for expecting a hand up and clumsily stood. He felt very stiff, but that’s what he got for lying on hardwood floors for hours on end.

 

Sherlock weighed it up and then decided that the closest hotel would do. John didn’t comment when Sherlock paid for a single room rather than a double, knowing that Sherlock wasn’t likely to use the solitary bed. He wasn’t particularly bothered by the woman’s knowing looks. He knew what they looked like: two men with no luggage buying a hotel room late at night. 

 

When they reached the room, there wasn’t actually a couch, but the bed was big enough that neither of them considered it awkward.

'I’m not sleeping in jeans,' John warned. 'I’m assuming you won’t make a big deal out of me just being in my pants?'

Sherlock waved away his concerns impatiently. He was already lying on the bed fully clothed. He hadn’t taken off his shoes or asked John if he preferred a side. But then, the side John preferred was the free side, so maybe he had just deduced it. John undressed in the bathroom, even though it didn’t make a difference. There was somehow something more intimate about taking clothes off than just walking into a room with fewer clothes on. While he was there, he had a quick shower, slightly annoyed that he didn’t have fresh pants to change into, but feeling fresher for it anyway. 

 

Sherlock was staring quietly at the ceiling when John entered the bedroom again, so he didn’t feel self conscious getting in the covers. He couldn’t help but give a satisfied groan at the feel of soft mattress. The shower had helped, but up until that moment he had still kind of felt like he was lying on the floor, like his shoulders were permanently flattened.

'I thought the same thing when I laid down,' Sherlock said. 'You were right, this is much more sensible than lying on the floor.'

John turned over so he was facing Sherlock, glad that he didn’t have to be on his back anymore. 

'I love hotel beds,' John said. 'Why are they always better than normal beds?'

'Mattress topper,' Sherlock said. 'And they’re all white. Something psychological about all-white beds. People think they’re more luxurious.'   
'I’ll take your word for it,' John said. 'This is actually a nice hotel, as well as just being the closest.'

'I thought the receptionist was a bit odd though,' Sherlock said. 

'How so?'

'She’s been happily married for several years to a man, but was very excited by the idea of us getting a room together.'   
'You can’t be surprised by people thinking we’re a couple this time,' John said, amused.

'No, I would have deduced we were, too, it’s just it was like she wanted to be involved.'

'Makes sense that if I like the idea of two girls together there has to be some girls that like the idea of two blokes.' Sherlock didn’t reply. 'Don’t think anyone would cheer if we made out in a club, though.'

'What?'

'Like they do with girls,' John said. He was starting to feel very sleepy.

'You didn’t mind her thinking we’re a couple,' Sherlock said.

'Nah,' John said. 'Could do worse.'

'What?'

'Change the subject, Sherlock.'

 

'Will you tell me what you told Moriarty? About how we got together? With Snap? I can’t figure it out.'

John opened his eyes reluctantly. Sherlock was now facing him too. John closed his eyes before he could do something stupid like look at Sherlock’s lips. Or his eyes. Or basically anywhere. 

'I told him about how sometimes we play games after cases, because the adrenaline won’t let me sleep. I told him about how we get a bit competitive with Snap sometimes.'

'A bit competitive? I burst blood vessels in your hand once and neither of us noticed!'

John opened his eyes when Sherlock talked. Sherlock was waiting for John to continue, so he closed his eyes again. Less distraction that way. 

'I told him that during a Snap game I got thinking about how much I fancy you and you noticed, so you kissed me.' 

'That’s all? But he believed you. And your heart …'

John crinkled his forehead without opening his eyes. 

'Right, so word for word? Or as close as I can to word for word?'

'Please.'

'You were concentrating so hard on the Snap that I realised that you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen, and not for the first time. You’re beautiful when you’re focussed. But you’d never noticed when I thought that before because usually I got those revelations when you were in the middle of a case and I was invisible, and I must have messed up the rhythm of the game or something because you looked at me and knew. I thought I’d really messed up then because there isn’t much that could ruin our friendship, but I was pretty sure that was one thing that could, but you didn’t freak out, you just kissed me.’

 

John opened his eyes again, because Sherlock hadn’t responded.

‘I know it’s a bit silly,’ he said.

‘It’s not silly.’ Sherlock said. 

They were looking into each other’s eyes now and John didn’t dare break it first. 

‘How did you even think of that?’ Sherlock asked. 

‘I thought he might ask, you know?’

Sherlock looked fascinated. His brow was slightly crinkled over his intense eyes. He licked his lips and John couldn’t help but watch. He carefully flicked his eyes back to Sherlock’s. 

‘Have you thought about it before?’ Sherlock’s voice was almost a whisper and so beautifully gravelly. John knew that if he lied, Sherlock would pretend to believe him and would leave their friendship be. John thought if he told the truth, Sherlock might kiss him, regardless of what Sherlock’s feelings were. John wasn’t sure if they could recover from it, but was suddenly unable to play it safe. It would drive him crazy, not knowing either way.

‘Yes.’

And John glanced at Sherlock’s lips again, telling him that he was thinking about it now.

‘John …’

John would let Sherlock make the move, as he had in his fantasy. He didn’t want to push him into anything he couldn’t cope with.

‘Yes?’

John kept himself still. Sherlock was staring at his lips too.

‘Your heart’s dragging mine up again.’

John grinned.

‘I took my monitor off when I had the shower.’

 

Sherlock huffed out a little laugh and then closed the gap between them, his hand finding John’s cheek as their lips met. John stopped himself from deepening the kiss, instead wrapping his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and scooting slightly closer, while keeping the kiss rather innocent. Sherlock was still on top of the blankets, which was probably for the best for now. John didn’t even want to tongue Sherlock without explicit permission, but he probably wouldn’t be able to stop himself from pressing his body against Sherlock’s. 

Sherlock broke their kiss and leaned his forehead against John’s. 

‘We don’t need to … You’re in control, okay?” John said.

‘I don’t want to pressure you,’ Sherlock said. 

‘I don’t want to pressure you,’ John replied. 

‘I’m struggling to keep this innocent,’ Sherlock said.

‘Please don’t be innocent for my benefit,’ John said.

Sherlock pressed his lips back to John’s and this time John eased their mouths open straight away. Sherlock surprised John by responding with enthusiasm, not only twining his tongue with John’s, but also pushing John into the bed so he could kiss deeper. Sherlock was half on top of John, with the blankets still between them. John had freed his arms and was holding Sherlock’s body to his. Sherlock made an annoyed sound and kicked his shoes off. John had forgotten he was wearing them. Sherlock claimed his mouth again, kissing him hungrily. John decided to stop treating Sherlock like he was made of glass and started to untuck his shirt. He inched his fingers under, playing with his waistline.

 

‘Would you like to get under the covers?’ John said, his voice breathy. 

Sherlock immediately untangled himself from John’s arms and all but dived under the covers.

‘Stop me if you need to,’ Sherlock said, his fingers tracing John’s side lightly.

‘Not bloody likely,’ John said, grabbing for Sherlock’s shirt and pulling him closer. John snuck his hands up Sherlock’s back and scratched lightly down as they kissed. Sherlock kissed sloppily at John’s neck, under his jaw line, sucked at his ear. John made a humming noise and Sherlock continued to kiss down his neck and then to his collarbone. John pulled Sherlock back up for more proper kisses and pressed their bodies together. 

 

It had been a while since John had been with a guy, but there was something thrilling about feeling an erection against his leg. It was just such an obvious sign of attraction. Sherlock obviously agreed, pressing himself even more firmly against John. John started to attack Sherlock’s shirt buttons. Sherlock shoved his hands away and unbuttoned himself with typical dexterity, then pushed his shirt off. John hugged Sherlock to himself, revelling in the feel of their chests together and kissing lazily at Sherlock’s neck.

 

Sherlock grazed his fingers up and down John’s back, his head tilted so that John could kiss his neck.

‘This feels wonderful,’ Sherlock said.

‘What do you want to do?’ John asked against Sherlock’s neck.

‘I want to have sex with you,’ Sherlock said. ‘Obviously.’ He pressed his erection into John’s hip.

John leaned into Sherlock, wishing he didn’t still have his pants on.

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I was thinking we should be specific, so we don’t accidentally go too far.’ John neglected to say that he didn’t think he had a ‘too far’ when it came to Sherlock.

‘I want …’ Sherlock was struggling to speak, a realisation that made John almost abandon talking altogether. ‘We don’t have supplies, shall we just stick to hands for tonight?’ John hummed into Sherlock’s neck and snuck the tips of his fingers under Sherlock’s dress pants. Sherlock scrambled to take them off. They started kissing again, and Sherlock worked his tongue with a gentle pressure while pressing their cocks together. The cotton felt non-existent. John tugged downwards at Sherlock’s pants and he took them off as well. Sherlock gave John a look, so he got rid of his own pants. 

 

Sherlock grasped for John’s cock while he was still on his back. John reached under Sherlock’s arm and copied him. Sherlock slid his hand gently up and down and groaned when John followed along. John loved this game. Sherlock was going to show him exactly what he liked. As they moved, John lost track of who was copying who, unable to stop himself from moving faster when he wanted it, or dragging the focus back to the base, nudging against Sherlock’s balls as if they were buried in each other. When he took control like that, Sherlock copied exactly. John tangled his feet with Sherlock’s and scratched at his back with his free hand. Sherlock’s free hand gripped John’s neck. 

‘I’m close,’ John said, his voice husky and broken.

Sherlock groaned in response and came. John was hit with the double realisation that he had done that to Sherlock and that his words had driven him over the edge, and came himself. They both slowed down and came to a stop in harmony.

‘Fuck,’ John said. 

‘Fuck,’ Sherlock agreed. John laughed. He wanted to make Sherlock swear so often it didn’t seem strange anymore. 


	7. Chapter 7

John had fallen asleep quickly, and Sherlock had even got a few hours before they had to get up. John found him staring at the ceiling with his arms behind his head.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, hoping his scratchy voice sounded endearing rather than sick.

“Going through our previous interactions and trying to pinpoint when you started being attracted to me.” 

“How’s that working out for you?” John asked, shifting sleepily.

“It’s pointless. I’m just watching, really. You’re very nice to me.”

“No need to sound so surprised,” John said, reaching out for Sherlock’s bare chest. The soft skin and coarse hair felt lovely against his fingers. He ignored Sherlock’s skeptical look as he stroked patterns idly.

“Are you-” Sherlock broke off and John waited in silence for him to finish his thought, but he didn’t.

“Did you just stop yourself from speaking halfway through a sentence? Is that a first, Sherlock?”

“Shut up, John.”

“Oh good, you’re not sick.” John shifted so he could look Sherlock in the eye. “What’s going on in that brilliant head of yours?”

“Have we just completely fucked our friendship?”

Two swears in as many days. It wasn’t like Sherlock never swore, but it was very rare in comparison to John, who could be trusted to swear ten times before his first cup of tea. 

“Quite literally, I think,” John said.

“How do we … proceed?”

“I was thinking that we could have a quick shag, go get our possessions back in Baker Street, and then spend the next few days testing to see what surfaces are the most … supportive of this relationship development.

And then you’ll probably need a case, so we’ll do that, but this time when you’re finished with your I’m-sexy-when-I’m-clever routine, I can actually do something about it, and then I’ll probably have drinks with Greg and he can tell me who has bet how much on us shacking up and I’ll twist the truth so he wins, because I’m not letting _ Anderson _ profit from our relationship.”

“Right.” Sherlock didn’t seem to be breathing under John’s hand. 

“Sorry, was that too much?”

“I’m not sure, my brain sort of froze after you said we were going to shag again in the hotel room.”

“Is that okay?”

Sherlock was quiet.

“Sherlock, do you regret last night?”

Sherlock still didn’t say anything.

“Sherlock, say something. I don’t want to lose you as a friend, I can kill these feelings if you need me to. Please don’t say I took advantage of you.  _ Fuck,  _ Sherlock, would you say something?”

Sherlock was shaking now, and John thought for a second that he was crying. But no, apparently John’s freakout was hilarious, because Sherlock’s silent laughter soon burst out into deep throaty chuckles. John rolled onto his back and crossed his arms over his chest. It was very difficult to be dignified in his position.

“Your face!” Sherlock managed to gasp. A few minutes later, he finally stopped laughing. “Oh,” he said. “That was funny. Can we have sex now?”

John really didn’t want to reward that kind of behaviour, but he also was completely incapable of denying  _ himself _ sex with Sherlock just because Sherlock had been a dick.

“I am not rewarding you playing with my emotions,” John growled as he allowed Sherlock to kiss him, his arms still crossed over his chest. 

“I am a big fan of your emotions,” Sherlock said, straddling John’s hips with odd casualness. There was nothing between them and Sherlock wiggled a bit more than was probably necessary before finding a position that slotted their cocks snugly together. Sherlock’s cock had a bit of curve to it, giving it the odd impression that it was leaning into John’s. John’s ability to keep his grumpy face on was being sorely tested, and then Sherlock grinded lightly against him and his hands grabbed for Sherlock’s hips without his permission. 

Sherlock grinned and made the movement again. John stared hungrily into Sherlock’s eyes. The bastard was  _ playing _ with him, but it was very hard to care. Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John deeply, rolling his hips again and again. John tangled his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and Sherlock made a pleasant humming noise against his lips. 

“Oh, that makes me think,” Sherlock said, climbing off John and extracting himself from John’s fingers.

“You can’t be serious,” John said. 

Sherlock just gave him a wicked smile and then bent down, taking John’s cock in his mouth before John realised what was happening. John lifted his hips lightly, unable to help himself, and groaned. Sherlock sucked forcefully from the base to the tip and John whimpered when he started licking him enthusiastically. Then Sherlock guided John’s hands back to his hair and John realised what Sherlock had thought earlier. John dragged his fingers against Sherlock’s scalp, marvelling at the soft hair. When Sherlock paused, his mouth lightly on the tip of John’s cock and waited. And waited some more. Finally, unable to bear it, John pressed down gently and Sherlock obligingly followed the movement.

Embarrassed it had taken him so long to cotton on, John responded with enthusiasm showing Sherlock the pace that drove him wild. As he felt himself near orgasm, John’s hands stilled and so did Sherlock’s mouth. John moaned with frustration and Sherlock must have taken pity on him, curling clever fingers around the base of John’s cock and pumping quickly with his mouth. His other hand nudged John’s balls in time with the pumping and John lasted about three seconds with this new sensory overload before he came, forgetting to warn Sherlock or anything else in his wave of pleasure.

 

As John felt himself relax, he found that Sherlock was still slowly, gently sucking him. He came over in tingles and had to pull Sherlock up. John felt rather boneless, but kissed Sherlock with enthusiasm.

“I take it I’m forgiven then,” Sherlock said as John kissed his neck. 

John ignored him and traced his fingers down Sherlock’s chest. His fingertips grazed Sherlock’s cock and he was surprised that it was even harder than it had been before. He slicked the pre-come down his shaft and stroked him gently, relishing in the way Sherlock collapsed heavily on John’s shoulder.

“I’m not going to last very long,” Sherlock whispered. “Got myself-oh,  _ there _ ,-all worked up.”

John hummed and nibbled on Sherlock’s ear as he wrapped a second hand around Sherlock’s cock, squeezing gently as he stroked him. He didn’t last long, biting down on John’s shoulder as he came. 

They lay there, John holding Sherlock in his arms and stroking his hair, for quite a while.

“What was the next item on the agenda?” Sherlock asked. “I really did seem to tune out once you mentioned sex.”

“Getting all the furniture back,” John said.

“Oh, Mycroft will have already done that. I hope he’s not going to be  _ waiting _ for us. He was so  _ insufferable _ when I asked him for help.”

“Couldn’t you have done it yourself?” John said.

“Not a good enough job. No one is getting anything past Mycroft. I wasn’t taking chances.”

“I knew you liked me,” John said. 

“Shut up,” Sherlock said, discovering for himself that it is rather difficult to pretend to be grumpy whilst naked in bed with your best friend. 


End file.
